


Ataraxia

by dysphorie



Series: 4/7 [3]
Category: Slipknot (Band)
Genre: 4/7, Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Bottom Jim, Crying, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotions, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hair Brushing, Hurt Jim, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Perspective switch, Purple Prose, Subdrop, Sweet/Hot, Top Mick, bandfic, jim is just grumpy, mention of previous bdsm stuff, mick just wants to make everything better, perspective change, subdrop but not quite, too many fuckin emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-07-23 20:01:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20013988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dysphorie/pseuds/dysphorie
Summary: Ataraxia,noun: a state of freedom from emotional disturbance and anxiety; tranquillity.





	Ataraxia

**Author's Note:**

> This is an honestly embarrassingly self-indulgent exercise in purple prose. 
> 
> Sorry not sorry.

The party's been...alright.

Too many hangers-on for Mick's liking, and he's been woefully unable to pay attention to anyone but Jim. Jim, who hasn't spent much time around Mick since they got there. Had gone off to the toilets upon arrival for such a long time Mick was tempted to check he was alive. He didn't seem angry or upset or anything at the time, just - distant. It wasn't until he noticed Jim completely zoning out while someone was talking to him, flinching sharply when they touched him to get his attention, that it occurred to Mick that there might be more going on with Jim than just post-sex comedown. When he tries to talk to Jim about it, he just reassures Mick that he's fine, nothing they did was too much, and that he knows Mick would've stopped if asked. That's it, all in one breath, 

There's a crashing tinkle and Mick turns around, completely unsurprised to see that it's Jim who's dropped his drink. That's the third one of the night. Someone's talking to him but Mick watches as Jim scrubs his face with his hands and stalks away from them while they're mid-sentence, to the toilets for the umpteenth time. It's not like Jim to be rude like that. Isn't like him to rude _at all_ , but that seemed particularly out of character. 

_Jim sighs, rubs his face with his hands and just...walks away. He can't do this much longer. He wants to be good for Mick but he's fucking exhausted; worn thin and glass-fragile, and all this hubbub is just too much right now. And not just because of what just happened, but because it's been a long fucking time since Jim could just - just breathe, and now that the album cycle is finished that's all he wants to do. Wants to do it with Mick while they have the time, before they have to go their separate ways back to their separate lives until the next cycle starts. Because there's always another cycle. Sometimes Jim feels like all he does is serve the cycle._

_Also it doesn't help that he looks horrific and he can tell people are staring at his bruised and blotchy skin, they're just either too polite or too scared to say anything about it. For once in his sorry life he actually wishes he had his mask on._

_Ugh he's getting maudlin and antsy, overtired and overstimulated. He wishes they could've just said "fuck it" to the party and just gone back to the hotel, before or after the parking lot incident, Jim doesn't care either way. He just needs, like, five minutes to calm down. His mouth tastes like blood again._

Mick watches Jim storm back into the toilets, and decides to follow this time. Jim's standing at the sink with his head under the cold tap, doesn't even look up as Mick lets the door slam behind him. Just turns his head and opens his mouth to let the water run into his mouth then spit it back out. Mick tries to ignore the fact the water is still slightly pink-tinged, instead barks " _OCCUPIED!"_ at the door when someone pushes it open and sends them scuttling back into the throng of people. With gentle hands he pulls Jim from under the stream and guides him against the wall, smoothing his hair back and cupping his cheeks in his hands. Jim doesn't look at him, just lets his eyes flit around, focusing anywhere but on Mick's face. 

"Are you ok?" Mick keeps his voice soft, strokes Jim's cheek with his thumb. Jim makes a non-committal noise, shrugs a little. Dread starts to burn inside Mick a little. Did he push Jim too far? It's all well and good saying they have safe words and Jim could've stopped it at any time, but what if Jim wanted it at the time and now has serious regrets? What if he just went along with it because he knew it was what Mick wanted? Internally he shakes his head to dislodge the thoughts; now isn't the time to bombard Jim with questions. One will suffice, he knows Jim will tell him the truth. "Are you mad at me?" 

That gets a bit more of a reaction, though not much; Jim squeezes his eyes shut, shakes his head the tiniest bit and gives him a small weak smile.

_"No, no of course not, it's just..." he tails off, huffing in frustration. He knows what he wants to say but can't form the words. Can't quite get his brain to come back online properly. But he also desperately doesn't want Mick think this is his fault, or that he's done something wrong. His hands come up to hold Mick's wrists, so strong and sure and secure. Biting his lip he tries again, pushes the words out with a sticky tongue, "I'm just tired. It's been a long day."_

That's _the understatement of the century._

_Mick glances behind him briefly, though Jim doubts anyone would dare try to come in the toilets after Mick's warning, then presses their lips together. It's gentle enough but Jim can feel the weight of the meaning behind it; it's "I'm sorry" and "I'll take care of you" and, Jim knows despite the fact Mick wont admit it out loud, "I love you". Just being able to feel it is enough for him though._

He lets the kiss linger for a second longer than he thinks is sensible, just because Jim tastes sweet and soft. Jim will always and forever be too good for him, Mick thinks. Taking Jim's hand, thankful for the dark of the club (he's in no mood to field awkward questions), he leads them through the densely packed crowd and out the fire escape. Jim doesn't protest, doesn't say anything, just lets Mick bundle him into a cab and stroke his hand in the dark car as they pass under the city lights, blurred and bright in the reflections of the puddles they drive through. Somehow he doubts the cab driver, with his flat cap and walrus moustache, is likely to be a Slipknot fan, so he doesn't feel too worried when he reaches over to squeeze Jim's thigh. The smile Jim gives him in return is weak but warm. Mick's heart flips.

Neither of them speak for the journey to the hotel, or in the elevator, or in the hallway leading to their room. Mick had intentionally gotten them partnered up to share a room tonight, fully intending to make the most of their last proper night together before they went back to their separate homes and lives until it was time to start all over again. Sure his plans might have involved less... _foreplay_ than they'd already had, and perhaps a version of Jim that was a bit less strained and jittery, but no matter. He's just happy to have the time period.

Jim just stops in the middle of the room while Mick shuts the door quietly behind them. His shoulders shake for a minute and Mick worries that he's crying, but when he walks around to look at him Jim just mumbles quietly.

_"Cold," is all he can think to say, and in a split second Mick has the soft blanket from the foot of the bed off and around his shoulders. As Mick leads him to the bed, makes him sit down and starts undoing his boot laces, Jim has a vague thought that this should be making him feel pathetic. He's a grown fucking man, he doesn't need help taking off his boots. He pushes Mick's hands out the way, yanks the shoe the rest of the way off without loosening the laces, and tries to work the laces of the other boot but his fingers feel like sausages. Frustrated, he fumbles for a minute, refuses to look up to where he knows Mick is just looking at him, waiting for him to give up. Eventually he just sits back up with a grunt, pushing his leg out in front of him so his boot is between Mick's knees, refusing to look him in the eye. Mick just goes back to his task without a word. Jim pulls the blanket further around his shoulders. He feels cold and weepy and sore and he just wants to sleep, but Mick's hands move to his belt and he has a brief moment of needing those hands on him, possibly_ in _him, but another wave of agitation passes over him before he can really appreciate the desire._

"Goddammit it man, not right now," Jim whines, trying to move Mick's hands. Mick pushes Jim's hands out the way easily, reaching back for the buckle. "Dude I said I'm fucking tired."

Mick just bats him away. "Yeah I know, jerk. I'm not trying to get into your pants, I'm trying to help you out of 'em," he sighs as he finally manages to get them undone and out from under his butt, starts sliding them down Jim's long legs. "Can't exactly shower and sleep in this gear, can you?" He takes Jim's low growl as him conceding the point, and he lets Mick undo his shirt and strip the rest of his clothes away. He rolls his eyes when Mick presses a cold bottle of water into his hand, knowing Jim will never admit that he's actually grateful for it, and he stops putting up a fight after that.

Until Mick gets him to the shower, that is. Jim steadfastly refuses to let Mick join him in the shower, and Mick doesn't push it after Jim rips the washcloth from his hand and remarks that he's been washing his own ass longer than Mick's been alive. Pointing out the math of that statement doesn't seem sensible, so Mick just kisses Jim and whispers soothing words against his lips until he manages to convince him to at least let Mick stay in the room to keep an eye out. So what if Mick puts his arm out behind Jim when he climbs into the bathtub on shaky feet, just in case he slips? If Jim notices, he doesn't say anything. From his perch on the toilet lid Mick plays the part of the silent sentinel, doesn't say a word. Just passes Jim items he asks for: soap, shampoo, dry towel because he got shampoo in his eyes, all without looking around the curtain when Jim twitches it aside to take the proffered items. Instead he waits until the curtain is yanked back into place then stares at the dim silhouette of Jim's thin form. _That_ he can't resist. Doesn't matter that he knows every inch of that body better than he knows most of his own, he'll always find picturing it in his mind's eye just _so_ erotic. Whether it's behind a shower curtain or under his stage gear, or even under the sheets in bed right next to him, Mick loves calling the details up and listing them all one by one.

Maybe it's because for such a large part of the year the memories are all he's got. Of course they sneak the occasional photo of each other, but they have to be so careful to leave out identifiers that it's almost pointless. Someone could recognize a piercing, a tattoo, a goddamned _mole_ and then it's Scandal City, population them, and Slipknot get enough hassle as it is. It's just too risky what with so many people's phones and clouds getting hacked and their content uploaded all over the web. Mick can't bear the thought of Jim, private and quiet Jim, going through something like that. Instead he just works on his memorizing skills.

A hand comes round the curtain and makes a grabby motion, and Mick wordlessly puts a towel into it. He doesn't look when Jim pulls the curtain back, but it just so happens to be a good thing that he's standing so close when Jim stumbles getting out the bath and grabs Mick's shoulder to steady himself.

_When Mick drapes another towel around his shoulders and takes Jim's wrist yet again he sighs internally. He's so close to just being able to lie down and sleep off whatever the fuck is wrong with him, but Mick_ still _wants more from him. Usually Jim's the needy one in this - he thinks the word relationship then has to stifle it. Thinking about Mick in terms like that just make him confused and anxious. Then Mick is tugging him towards the bed. For a split second he thinks he might actually get to crash out at last, but nope. Instead Mick sits against the pillows, spreads his legs and pulls Jim towards him._

_"Um. What?" Jim asks, confused. Mick pulls his wrist again but Jim wont be moved. He's too addled to work out what the fuck Mickael "I Get My Kicks From Preventing James Root From Sleeping" Thomson could possibly want now. With his free hand Mick pats the bed between his legs, in lieu of using actual words. Jim wants to hit him. He settles instead for climbing lead-limbed onto the bed, not particularly caring that he nearly breaks Mick's leg in the process. Mick doesn't say anything, just takes the towel from around Jim's shoulders and starts to towel dry his hair._

_Okay no, this is just weird. He fidgets, uncomfortable, and when he sees Mick drop the towel and pick up a comb from the toiletry bag on the nightstand he starts to move away completely._

_"I can brush my own fucking hair," he whines, still too wet to properly maneuver around the bed. One big hand catches the towel around his waist and tugs him back up, so Jim squirms again. "Seriously, don't."_

_That hand and another seize his hips this time, stilling him. Fucking Mick, Jim thinks as a hand cards through his hair. He pulls away again._

_"Mick, c'mon man, don't -" but Mick just puts a hand on his shoulder and pulls him back, murmurs_ "Stay still," _and Jim recognizes that tone of voice. It's the voice Mick uses when he's telling Jim what to do because Mick wants him to and Mick knows best. They don't use terms like sub or Dom, and Jim only calls Mick "sir" in specific situations, which this doesn't really feel like, but at the same time it's exactly one of those times. Just this time Mick is taking care of him instead of..._

"You know how frizzy your hair gets when you don't comb it when it's wet, and I don't want you moaning the face off my tomorrow when it wont sit right," Mick's voice is even, composed and calm. An untrained ear wouldn't hear much different from his usual tone, but he can tell that Jim hears the difference. He stops wiggling and sits still, tilting his head back a little so Mick can reach better, because he knows Mick doesn't like admitting that Jim is taller than him so would rather his arms fell off than tell Jim he needs to move. Picking the comb up again he starts pulling it through the thick brown waves, taking care not to pull against the tangles, working them out with his fingers instead. The tension is visibly fading from Jim's muscles, and he smiles to himself when he hears Jim whisper " _That's so nice,"_ so quietly that Mick's fairly certain he wasn't supposed to hear. 

_The teeth of the comb rake across Jim's scalp. It feels like fingernails and makes him shiver._

When he's finished he puts the comb down, runs his fingers through the still slightly damp hair once more, before dropping his hands to Jim's shoulders again. With the barest pressure he pulls him backwards, dropping a kiss against the damp nape of Jim's neck before letting him lean flush against his chest. Jim's head rolls to the side, leans back to rest against Mick's shoulder and press against Mick's face. He smells of nice soap and clean, warm skin and under it all is that unique scent that's just... _him_. Mick breathes deep, breathes Jim in. Into his lungs, into his memory, into his heart. His hands trail from Jim's shoulders down his arms to his towel covered hips, up the soft curve of his sides and back down again as he peppers more kisses against the joint of Jim's shoulder, towards where his neck begins, inching his way up to _that_ spot under his ear. Jim hums, melting into Mick's steady form. His hands find Mick's, holds his wrists and guides them around his waist. Mick stills his lips and just holds him, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his stomach, fingers idly stroking the hair below his navel. He didn't know it but this is what he wanted. They sit together quietly, the only sound their breathing. Mick lets his eyes close, just tries to let the air of contentment wash over him.

_Mick's hands are warm against Jim's belly, and that heat is soaking into him. It fills his head, clearing his mind of some of the anxiety and fretfulness that's been plaguing him all night. It fills his chest, making his heart happy and giving him a sense of peace that he hasn't felt in a long while. He still feels on edge and unsettled and oddly sad, but it's easier to deal with now. Taking in and letting out a deep breath, he lets the heat flow through him, shivering, letting the sensation soak into his bones. It pools low in his gut, spreads across his hips and creeps its way downwards. Mick's fingers are still tracing that line of hair, and Jim finds himself wanting them to move lower, elsewhere. He shifts slightly, seeing if that will guide them, doesn't want to have to ask Mick for what he wants; his overprotective mode will kick in, and he'll give Jim all the reasons they shouldn't do anything right now. Jim needs to make Mick want it._

Mick ponders how they got here. Not in the grand scheme of things, just the events of the past few hours. He'd been so caught up in excitement and then worry it hadn't occurred to him that not giving Jim a chance to come down slowly might not have been the best of ideas. He knows about subdrop, just enough to know that it's not something he's in a hurry for Jim to experience. It's not like Jim's going to want to do anything else tonight though. That'll give them both a chance to relax.

_The movement of his hips makes Mick's fingers stray to the side, brushing down the crease where Jim's thigh meets his body, and he sucks in a sharp breath. So much for the subtle approach, there's no way that hasn't got Mick's attention. Mick doesn't take away his hand though. Just runs his fingers along that line again, tracing one prominent hip bone with a feather-light touch before stroking back towards his bellybutton. Jim purrs at the contact, bites his lip when Mick repeats the motion. When he can't hold it back and he twitches as those fingers map his hip again, Mick presses his lips more firmly against Jim's neck rather than pull back. Mouthing down he nips a little when he reaches the point where neck meets shoulder, making Jim's mouth drop open in a quiet gasp. A whine gets caught in Jim's throat when Mick's other hand wanders up his stomach to his nipple, pinching just a little, rubbing it with his thumb. It instantly pebbles up and Jim clamps his lips together to keep from crying out. Mick knows all Jim's most sensitive spots, he's working them all at once, and at that point Jim knows that Mick wont deny him. There's no way he'd get Jim_ this _riled up all over again and not see it through. He just wouldn't._

_Would he?_

No, he wouldn't.

Fuck. So much for not wanting to do anything else. This is what Mick was worried about. He can't deny how much he wants Jim, and it's obvious from the way Jim's body's responding to the slightest touches that he wants Mick too. They've had a long day and even longer night though, and the last thing Mick wants to do is make Jim worse. His teeth worry his bottom lip. He always worries about his aftercare attempts, knows he dropped the ball tonight, and it's become clearer to him the longer they lie together that Jim _might_ just possibly be going through a bit of a drop. Will doing more make that worse? Will it relieve it? Mick's not sure. 

But then, a huge part of aftercare is making sure your partner (Mick can't think of Jim as his sub, he just can't,) is happy and feels safe and appreciated, isn't it? And he doesn't need to fuck Jim, though he's assuming Jim wouldn't want that anyway. He thinks back to the blood covering his hand and feels equally queasy and aroused. _Shit. This is going to happen, isn't it?_ he thinks. Jim's shifting more and more under his hands, making sweet little noises like he's scared to be too loud, and Mick can feel himself hardening against the towel around Jim's hips. Warm dry lips press clumsily against Mick's cheek, and all sense of rationality flies out the window when Jim whines, _begs_ Mick to touch him. How could he possibly resist that?

_Mick's blue eyes are full of concern when he looks down at Jim, but there's definitely still heat there, and Jim prays he wont ask questions or press the matter. Just give him what he wants, what he needs, because he asked for it. Jim never asks for it. He'll hint when the time is right, or beg on his knees at Mick's feet, but he never simply asks. For one thing he's too scared of being told 'no'. During a scene being denied whatever he's begging for is half the fun, but if that happened when he was genuinely wanting something in particular, it would crush him. He already feels worthless and ignorable most of the time, he doesn't need that when he's at his most vulnerable, literally naked and afraid._

One hand keeping up the attention on Jim's nipple, the other crosses to the other side of his stomach and untucks the fabric where Jim had bunched it up to keep it together, pulling it open so Jim's naked body is fully on display. Fuck, Mick doesn't think he'll ever get enough of that sight, even from his current limited viewpoint. He tugs the towel, signalling to Jim to lift his hips so Mick can pull it from under him. It's a little strange, still being fully clothed while Jim is buck naked, but dealing with that requires brainpower that Mick just doesn't possess at the moment. He's too busy trying to decide where he wants to put his hands most; wants to touch him everywhere, wants to kiss and lick every wrinkle, every freckle, every _inch_. Maybe in another life this wouldn't have been a stolen moment, might have been their normal, every day life, but Mick can't think about that now. There'll be time for that when Jim's not here. For now he's going to concentrate on this. 

_Jim can feel Mick's hesitation, knows he's overthinking this. It's sweet and Jim appreciates it, but it's not what he needs right now. He knows what's going on with him and he's pretty sure he knows what will make it feel better, at least for a while. Twisting in Mick's grip he turns to face him, moving up onto his knees and leaning in close. The fabric of Mick's jeans is rough against his freshly scrubbed skin but Jim doesn't care. He needs this too much to care. With slightly shaking hands he cups Mick's face, brings their lips together in a soft, humid kiss. Mick makes a low sound that vibrates against Jim's lips, and he echos it as he licks into Mick's mouth. Mick tugs just a little and Jim lets himself spill into Mick's lap, lets his brain tumble down to that place only Mick can take him. Everything else is background noise. They keep it slow, tender, the complete opposite of earlier in the night. Mick's hands slot around Jim's waist, thumbs rubbing the bottom of his ribcage, holding him firmly but not tight as Jim slowly rocks his hips. The friction of the denim is a bit too much for the scraped skin of Jim's dick even with the precome leaking from his tip making the drag wet and smooth, but he doesn't want to stop. Dimly he thinks that Mick must sense this because he's definitely holding back from rolling his own hips up. Jim doesn't mind, figures Mick's hesitation has a lot to do with what happened before. It's only then that it occurs to him that he hasn't exactly done much to reassure Mick that everything that went down was ok, that he enjoyed it and it wasn't too much for him. Yes ok twice in the club, but at that point he was snappy, irritated and high-strung. Can't exactly blame Mick if he wasn't convinced by that performance._

_He pulls back from the kiss, keeps his hands on Mick's face and just looks him over for a minute; his blue eyes are blown wide, there's a rosy flush high on his cheeks, sweat beading at his temples. Sometimes Jim doesn't think he spends enough time looking at his bandmate when really he should, should be doing it as much as he can while he can._

Jim's eyes are more hooded than usual, his smile soft and dopey. The way his tongue peeks between his uneven teeth makes Mick purr, it's adorable. He thinks Jim probably never looks sexier than when he's a little out of it, a little loose and lazy.

_"I'm ok, baby," he whispers, giving Mick a small smile. "I promise. You were amazing, everything you did was amazing." Mick's smile is similarly small, still clearly unsure, and Jim's heart drops a little. He forgets that he's not the only insecure one, that things can have an affect on Mick just as much as anyone else. He just shows it differently, which is basically not showing it at all most of the time._ 'I'll do better next time,' _he thinks._ _They both will. He closes his eyes and kisses him again, presses their foreheads together to let their breath mingle. "Mick, I swear. I would've stopped you if I didn't want to do anything. I wanted you to do everything you did and more," he kisses Mick firmly, as if he could drive his words home with his lips. Against Mick's lips he whispers, "Please believe me." Stressing the last 'please' he forces his eyes open, hoping to see Mick's expression happier, or at least lighter. All he gets is a flash of steel blue though, the next second he's yelping as Mick takes him firmly by the hips and lifts him up, turning around to dump Jim on his back and following him over. Mick kisses him again, harder and with definite intent, but it's still slow, still gentle, makes Jim's skin tingle. Sitting up he yanks his shirt off over his head, pushes Jim's hands out of the way when they try to undo his belt buckle._

Taking Jim's wrists in his hands he brings them to his mouth to press kisses to the paper-thin skin over his veins, feeling the narrow bones under his fingertips. "Let me look after you," he says simply, and he feels the tension leave Jim's arms, hears him sigh, sees him give him a tiny nod; submitting to Mick again, this time so Mick can lavish the care and adoration on him that he feels Jim truly deserves. His boy deserves all that and more, deserves to feel safe and happy and loved at all times. Mick shucks off the rest of his clothes before climbing back onto the bed, over Jim, finally skin on skin. The way Jim rolls his head back to expose his flushed neck, closes his eyes and bites his lip makes Mick's stomach burn. He really has no idea what he does to Mick, each and every day. Every movement of his long, slender body, every time those elegant fingers touch him, it all goes straight to Mick's head and makes it spin off its axis. He can see Jim's pulse flutter beneath the pink skin of his neck. Mick sets his lips on it. He can taste soap and the sun and salt when he runs his tongue downwards, flicking into the dip where his collarbones meet. With the barest pressure he sucks, not hard enough to bruise but enough to redden the skin and make Jim gasp quietly. From there he rakes his teeth across a clavicle, soothing the skin with a rub of his tongue, working his way down Jim's chest. Those fingers he loves so much wind their way into his hair, tugging slightly in that way Jim knows he likes, just enough to sting a little. Mick groans, lets Jim hold his head against him when he rolls his tongue around one sweet stiff nipple. Pain isn't his aim here, but he still can't resist setting his teeth against the delicate nub.

_'Ow, shit,' Jim thinks as Mick's teeth scrape his nipple. That hurts but he supposes he deserves it for biting Mick so many times. Just as well they both have a thing for teeth on all the wrong places._

Jim whines and arches into his mouth, but Mick pulls back again and places a hand gently on Jim's chest. Pressing him against the mattress again, he makes a quiet, soothing sound. "Shhhh, just relax baby. I've got you..."

_Mick's words sing through Jim's veins, bubbling hot and sweet. He slings one arm over his face, trying to muffle his cries in his elbow and spare Mick seeing his burning cheeks and screwed-up features, while he cradles the back of Mick's head with the other hand. Part of him wants to keep him pressed to his chest all night, wants to come just from that simple stimulation, but the rest of him is desperate to see what else Mick has in store. As long as he doesn't fucking stop, Jim will be happy. He relaxes as Mick removes his teeth, rolling his tongue around instead._

With another sigh Jim lets himself sink back into the covers, relaxing his hold on Mick's hair, and Mick moves his attention over to the other nipple. Softer this time, no teeth. Just lets it stiffen up against his tongue from delicate licks while he thumbs the first. Kissing his way back to the centre of Jim's chest he pauses to taste his heartbeat. It taps a fast staccato beat, and Mick feels his own start to adjust to match the longer he lingers. His path is evident as he mouths sloppy soft kisses down Jim's abdomen, counting each rib and sucking tiny red blotches into the flesh of his stomach as Jim whimpers and squirms. _Jesus_ , that fucking noise. It makes Mick's legs weak and brain muzzy. That noise just rises in volume when Mick palms Jim's hips to lick into that crease at his thigh again, and he's careful not to let his cheek and beard rub against the ripped skin on Jim's dick, doesn't want to chafe it any worse. 

_When Mick's breath drifts across his grazed skin Jim jerks. It's like fucking fire and makes him feel like he might die, but he needs it again. Needs more. More of Mick, more of them, more of this, more of_ everything. _The tension building in his hips is driving him to distraction, he's so pent up and desperate._ _Mick's lips and tongue are barely touching his skin, and he's desperate to push up into them, to make Mick kiss him harder, grab him more firmly. But...something stops him, and it's not just the fact that Mick told him not to. He wasn't kidding when he said he was tired, and all of a sudden it's like all the fight's gone out of him. Yeah he wants more from Mick right now but he doesn't want to drag it out of him. Doesn't want to push and push until Mick snaps, just wants Mick to want him._

_The realization hits him like a truck, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. His breath halts in his lungs, and he doesn't want Mick to see. What if Mick thinks he's pathetic or weak? Not capable of taking the punishment he so desperately wants Mick to deal him? Because it's not like Mick has to talk Jim into the hard stuff, he never pushes Jim to do things he doesn't want to. Jim actively wants these things himself, suggests them when they come to mind. He wants that and he wants the soft stuff afterwards and he wants - he wants..._

_He feels like he's coming apart. He needs a distraction. For them both, because if he keeps sniveling Mick's going to notice and then he'll definitely stop. Swallowing hard, tongue thick in his mouth, his voice is barely louder than a whisper when he says, "I want -" pauses, swallows again, "Your mouth, please...want your mouth."_

Jesus _fuck_ , that's twice in one night Jim's actually opened his mouth and _asked_ Mick for something, his voice hesitant and sugar-sweet. His head reels as he groans, and he has to take a second to compose himself because just hearing those words makes his dick twitch hard, drooling out more precome to string between him and the bed. Jim's never outright told him but Mick knows why he never voices his wants because he knows Jim. Knows how he ticks. As if he would _ever_ have to worry about Mick not giving him what he wants. Mick would set the world on fire if it brought a smile to his boys face.

_He lets out a sigh of pure relief when Mick stays silent, simply dropping his lips back to the soft expanse of the skin below his navel. It twitches, quivering with anticipation. Mick starts carefully with open-mouthed kisses at the base of Jim's cock, not too hard and not too soft. It's perfect. It hurts but it's the good kind of pain, because it means Mick will kiss it better over and over again. Slowly he makes his way upwards, hand carefully drifting between Jim's thighs to cup his balls, and Jim's low hum of pleasure becomes a garbled grunt. He presses the backs of his hands against his eyes, fighting to keep them away from Mick's head. Doesn't want the temptation to guide him, doesn't want to push him down to take his length down his throat. Just wants whatever Mick is going to give him, because right now Mick knows best._

Mick knows better than to be anything other than slow and delicate right now. He can feel the torn skin under the tip of his tongue and that distinctive sharp metallic taste of raw tissue, and he pulls back a little when Jim gasps and twitches away from him. It's hard to maintain a pressure that wont be too painful but wont be ticklish either, but Mick never shied away from a challenge before, isn't about to start now. Wrapping his fingers loosely around the bottom he uses the faintest pressure to stroke him, just moving the skin, not running his hand up and down the length. When he presses his tongue into that sensitive spot under the head, rubs his tongue against it, Jim shivers so fucking hard.

_Jim knows his cock is leaking, can feel it running down the side of his cock where it stings the scraped skin. The hiss of pain becomes a stuttered moan that fades into a sigh of relief when Mick licks up the line, soothing the sting. Fuck, that's -_

" _Fuck_ , that's -" whatever Jim was about to say is cut off by a guttural gasp spilling out of him when Mick chooses that moment to roll his tongue around the head, sucking it into his mouth with a loose grip. Doesn't suck hard, doesn't choke himself on it; just holds it, keeps his lips loose and the saliva coming until he's drooling down the sides of Jim's dick while his tongue continues to work against the head. Jim gives a dry sob, pushing his head back into the pillow. "That's fucking _perfect_ , that's perfect baby, that's..." he babbles, words wheezing to a stop as he runs out of air. He's rocking up into Mick's mouth just the tiniest bit, stuttered little movements that don't hit the back of his throat but it's a near thing, so Mick sets one big hand on Jim's stomach, holding him down. The other strokes his hip, motions Mick knows that Jim knows are in place of the encouraging words he usually gives him. _'Y_ _ou're so good',_ and _'I'm so proud of you'_ , and all the other things Mick can't say when he's putting his mouth to use. Can't say in general. Not just because he's not the most verbose man in the world, but...well, they both understand the why and why not's of the situation. 

_It's not enough. Jim still needs more. Has no idea what 'more' is, but his head is still dizzy and dumb and he just needs something to calm it. Something to give him that exhausted clarity. The day's left him stretched taught and tight, and he doesn't want to snap. Just wants relief through release._

Mick thinks to himself that he wants to take Jim apart, then realises: he already has. And now he's putting him back together. Every lick is a stitch, every kiss a knot. He just wants Jim to feel good.

_The fight's still gone, and he knows Mick just wants to take the best care of Jim's_ _battered and torn body as he possibly can in the best way he knows how, but Jim's not made of glass. He can take it, even when he doesn't know what 'it' is. With a shaking hand he reaches over and ferrets the lube out of his toiletry bag, tossing the bottle onto the bed as best he can. It rolls to a rest against Mick's elbow, and Jim can only pant and stare down with lidded eyes while he prays that Mick gets the hint. Mick lets Jim slip from with mouth with a wet sound as he looks at the bottle, glancing between that and Jim's face. All Jim can offer is a barely perceptible nod, but it seems to be enough for Mick, who sits up without another word. The noise of relief Jim makes is wholly undignified but he can't care. His brain isn't firing properly. There probably isn't enough blood and oxygen getting to it, it's all in his fucking dick._

Knowing better than to ask if Jim's sure, Mick just glances at his face, searches it for a sign of hesitation and finds none. He's not going to argue, not going to fuss. Mick's not really calling the shots here. That's all Jim. Always is really, when Mick thinks about it. He's the one with the power to end scenes, and he's the one with the power to bring Mick to his knees. 

_Mick sits up slowly, nudging Jim's thighs further apart, and Jim has to look away, his cheeks hot and red, when Mick drips some lube onto his fingers to warm it up, flinching when a stray cold drop hits his inner thigh. The way Mick can sit, tall and proud and ignoring his own erection while staring down at Jim makes him feel too exposed and slightly ashamed; why would Mick want to look at him like this? How could he find this attractive when he has so much beauty elsewhere in his life? Jim bites his lip, feeling the tears well up again. One runs down his temple, quickly followed by several more when Mick shifts to lift Jim's thighs up against his own, raising his ass a little; it's too tender, nicer than Jim feels he deserves. Mick either doesn't notice or mercifully opts not to call attention to the tears, instead just runs a finger down the seam of Jim's balls, pressing slightly against his perineum as he passes it before rubbing a digit against his rim. 'Please don't ask if I'm sure, please don't ask if I'm ok, please don't make me speak because I can't and if I try I'm going to die,' Jim silently pleads. He mentally begs whatever deity may be listening to give Mick the confidence he needs to just do whatever he thinks is best, and not to ask Jim for guidance because he's been taken apart enough today._

**  
**

It'd be a complete lie if Mick said he wasn't worried. He's probably gone completely overboard on the lube and Jim's gonna be annoyed at him for getting it on the sheets, but his heart's rattling like a snare drum. He remembers the blood, the state Jim was in, and he _really_ really doesn't want that to happen again tonight. Doesn't want anything to hurt. His finger slips in easily, Jim's nose wrinkling slightly in response. That's it. No pained whines, no recoiling or anything like that. The second digit works in almost as easily, and Mick just _has_ to pause for a minute to watch the way he sinks into Jim's body. Has to move slowly, stroking his velvety walls and savouring the heat. Jim's eyes are still firmly closed. Mick knows how uncomfortable being stared at makes him feel, but he _has_ to grab all these little opportunities while he can.

_Jim can still feel Mick's eyes on him, still keeps his eyes shut. Just bites his lip and concentrates on relaxing his muscles. The way Mick's fingers rub at his insides makes his stomach fizz._

Focusing on Jim's face he pushes in a third finger, and there's only the slightest bit of resistance this time, and Mick's spurred on to start moving them a little more when he sees Jim's mouth curl up into a smile on one side. It's hard, he wont deny it, to resist the urge to rail into him hard and fast, but he manages to restrain himself. Just keeps the movements of his fingers and hand slow while he strokes up the inside of one pale thigh with the other hand. The tightness between his own legs is just background noise right now. Jim's breath keeps catching, Mick's pretty sure it's on purpose, like he's trying to hold it rather than asking Mick to put his hands around his throat. Mick's not gonna choke Jim right now, but if Jim wants to hold his own breath for the same effect, who is he to stop him?

_God, it's too fucking good. The lazy thrusts hit all the right points, and if this was any other night Jim would be more than happy to let Mick bring him off like this. Coming on Mick's hand and over his own sounds close to fucking perfect. Another time, he thinks. He doesn't want to come like this tonight._

Jim _does_ flinch and pull away slightly, however, when Mick brushes against a particular spot inside. At first he thinks he's hit one of the areas he must have injured earlier, but when Jim's mouth falls open to let out a quiet moan, it clicks. He goes to do it again, with more intent this time, but Jim is clumsily swatting at his wrist and mumbling as he gasps out the words. "Too mu - much, not," he pauses, pants, licks his lips and tries to form proper words.

_"Not like this," is all he can get out, so instead of trying to say anything else he just reaches up, takes Mick's face in his hands and pulls him down._

Mick slips his fingers out, absentmindedly wiping the lube on his thigh, but he doesn't have a chance to get settled on top of Jim before those long legs and arms are wrapping around him. A pull here, a shove there, and Mick's unbalanced, tumbling over onto his back with a mumble of surprise as Jim mounts him again. 

_Tipping Mick's bulk and rolling on top of him felt like climbing a fucking cliff, but Jim's pretty confident the effort he put in will be worth it. He straddles Mick's hips. bracing his hands on his broad chest to get comfortable before inhaling deeply. Is he entirely sure he's ready for this? No. Does he care? Also no._

_He's not quite happy yet, though. Threading his fingers under Mick's neck he tugs, guides him to sit up til they're chest to chest. Mick's hands feel huge on his hips, and he can't help the small yelp he makes when Mick pulls him into his lap properly, trapping their dicks between their stomachs as he pulls Jim as tight against him as he can._

Tightening his hold on Jim's hips Mick silently encourages Jim to lift up further on his knees, doesn't care if Jim notices how hard his hands are shaking when he dumps out more lube to slick himself up and reaches between them, teasing Jim's hole by coating it with more lube then angling himself up. Jim's trembling too. Mick can feel it, feel him breathing shakily against his neck. They stay like that, pressed tight together, not looking at one another, as Jim sinks down inch by slow inch. Mick lets out a soft cry, the loudest sound he's made in hours, while Jim's fallen silent. The slide is nearly effortless but _fuck_ , he's still so tight. If Mick hadn't personally been there he'd never have known Jim was fucked nine ways to Sunday earlier. Even after working him open, Jim feels like a hot glove squeezing the life out of him. Every time he slides into Jim's body, it feels like coming home. That's what Jim is to him, he has always been Mick's safe home. 

_Jim can't breathe, can't think, can't feel anything except the point where he and Mick meet. He clenches unconsciously, draws a sharp sound from Mick, and begs his body to relax. He's too riled up, which is just going to make things hurt more than they already do. There's pain but it's dull and bearable. Nothing Jim hasn't pushed through before. Mick's fingers tighten like a vice, his voice raw when he begs, "Don't - don't fuckin' move, Jim. I can't. Fuck you feel so good, don't move yet, need a sec-"_

_He just buries his face further into Mick's neck, nipping his skin. It's frustrating but he needs this to last, needs this for as long as possible, so he does as he's told and waits for a signal. Slowly Mick's breathing evens out again, and Jim takes the way his hand slides to the base of his spine and presses with the barest pressure as his cue._

It's just a small roll of his hips but it makes Mick whimper like he's dying. He repeats the sound as Jim repeats the movement, and soon they fall into a rhythm together. Back and forth, back and forth, Jim keeps moving his hips and Mick keeps holding him close. Jim's cock is rubbing against his stomach, leaving a sticky trail of precome in the hair there. Mick doesn't care, just hopes it feels good for Jim. He can hear Jim's voice, low and raspy and not altogether there, like he's not even conscious of what he's saying. Can't make out what he's saying, but his lips are hot against Mick's skin and it makes him shudder.

_The barrier between Jim's brain and his mouth was kicked down a while back, and he's murmuring all his thoughts into Mick's neck as he rocks, punctuating it with humid, heated kisses against his neck, his ear, his jaw. Quietly begging for Mick to hold him closer, tighter, telling Mick how amazing and perfect he is. He takes Mick's face in both hands and licks his way into his mouth. Mick swallows it all, every word, steals Jim's breath away._ _Resting his hand flat to Jim's chest Mick pushes him to lean back. "Let me see you," he husks. Jim's powerless to resist. He grits his teeth, hisses a curse and leans back, lets his head tip back, lets his arms fall back until his hands find purchase on Mick's legs. Shit, it's the best and worst possible angle._

Mick lets his hands roam; up the soft curve of Jim's waist, along the silky skin of his back, down the delicate hair of his chest and stomach. Watches the magnificent arch of his back, the way his hips move, and the way his mouth falls open, and the way sweat rolls off his collarbones, chest flushed pink and pretty. It's intoxicating. _Jim_ is intoxicating, and Mick's high as a fucking kite with the beauty of it all. Running his hands down Jim's thighs, he feels the way they quiver against his own, can feel how hard Jim is trying to hold back his orgasm.

_There's none of his usual self-consciousness dogging him, telling him he's not beautiful like Mick says or that he's a bad lay that Mick just tolerates for the sake of a hole to fuck. There's just a deep, deep joy, a sense of feeling_ _full and happy. It burns through his veins, pools in his belly, and the longer he rocks himself in Mick's lap the closer he feels to erupting. It's like he's being split open, the angle of his hips making Mick's dick grind across his prostate with every thrust. He can barely put voice to his pleasure now, too lost in the high delight. Stretched so full he swears he's at his breaking point, but Mick would never let him break._

Mick pulls Jim up, gathers him in his arms again. Jim moves faster, wringing Mick dry. The pressure on his dick is unbelievable, overwhelming him. "You're amazing, baby," he pants, relishing the whine Jim makes at that, "You've got no idea what you do to me. My b-best boy, so fucking perfect." He knows he should shut up but he can't, needs Jim to know all these things, never wants him to doubt how Mick feels about him for a second. Jim's hole is fluttering around him, little spasms that tell Mick he's got Jim on the ropes. He's so close but he wont come until Jim does. Jim comes first, in every sense of the word.

_Every word Mick says is like a shot of euphoric ecstasy hitting him right in the heart. Jim keens, letting the tears fall. "Fuck, Mick. I - I want you so much," He wants to say more, so so much more, but he's too awash with waves of emotion that he's too far gone to name. The friction is too much. He's so fucking close and he needs it now but he's devastated by the the twin sensations of Mick inside him and his dick against Mick's stomach and he can't tell which he needs more of to finally finish him off. Mentally he desperately pleads with Mick to make the choice for him. To give him what only Mick knows he needs. He can fucking taste it._

"You've got me. I promise, you've got me."

_Like Mick finally gave him permission to let go, jerking once, twice, Jim stills. His draw drops, nails dig into Mick's arms as he tips over that edge. A streak of come hits Mick's stomach, makes the slide wet and easy and makes Jim's orgasm even more intense. Mick's hands urge him to keep moving to fuck himself through it, and he's already too sensitive, but he needs Mick to come too. Needs him to get off and feel this good too. Lifting up on his knees he lets his weight slam him down again and again until Mick gasps, and Jim takes his face in his hands again and slots their lips together. Gripping his hips to hold him still, digging in his nails, Mick grits a whine out through his teeth and Jim breathes it in, feeling Mick pulse inside him. Together they shake and sigh as the waves crash over them._

Spent, Jim sags against Mick who wraps his arms around him, just holds him, stroking his back and making soft soothing noises. Mick can't quite see properly, has to keep blinking to clear his fuzzy vision. It's white and blurry at the edges, a literal afterglow.

Jim makes the first move, shifting a little so Mick will relax his hold. Sitting up slowly he groans, shaking his hair back from his sweaty face. Mick helps push it back. He looks muddled and lost and wholly adorable with his unfocused eyes and tilted smile. The grimace he makes when he pulls away and feels his own come string between their bodies is equally adorable. Mick tries to stifle a chuckle but fails miserably. Jim rolls his eyes at him. 

"Well," Jim sighs, voice raspy and raw, "guess I'd better take another fuckin' shower then." 

Mick laughs, pecks Jim on the nose. Jim swats him away. "Can I join you this time? Promise I wont try to brush your hair again." That makes Jim laugh this time. It makes his insides twitch, clenching around Mick's dick, only just starting to soften, and he hums low in his throat. 

He tilts his head like he's pretending to consider the offer. "Can I brush your hair this time?"

Mick slaps Jim ass, making him squeal. "Fuck off," he laughs, pulling him down into another languid kiss. "But yeah, yeah you can."

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case it wasn't clear, Mick's POV is in normal text and Jim's is in Italics.
> 
> Title is, as always, from a song. As always, I will neglect to give any further information.
> 
> dysphorie-by-the-sea.tumblr.com come be my friend


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